Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the overpriced bistro. Across from him, Mark, or whatever his name was, was recounting a hilarious anecdote about a misadventure involving a chihuahua and a particularly potent curry. It was all very… pedestrian.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that felt more like a frustrated scratch. He noticed the expensive watch on Mark’s wrist. *His* watch. Or, it *was* his watch, until a few weeks ago, at least. He hadn’t bothered to retrieve it. What was the point?

“So, then I just looked at her and…” Mark trailed off, mid-sentence. He was gesturing wildly now, completely unaware of the glacial chill that had descended upon the room. The waiter arrived with the wine. He made a pointed comment, asking if Mark had chosen this particular vintage for his guest. He had.